


but i travelled a long road to get a hold of my sorrow

by emandrea



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Good Omens Big Bang, Happy Ending, Post-Armageddont, Travel, crowley has flight anxiety, good omens - Freeform, ineffable husbands take a vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22307824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emandrea/pseuds/emandrea
Summary: When one’s lifespan is as vast as either Crowley’s or Aziraphale’s, time begins to lose its significance. Hours blend into minutes and years are indistinguishable from weeks. Yet, memories of the past seem to be cemented into the conscious- especially when snippets of eating pastries with an angel warmed by the sun arise. Memories bleed into everyday life, encouraging the angel and the demon to reminisce on oysters by the sea and crepe dates following devastating wars. When it seems that remembering these tender moments doesn’t satisfying the duo’s desire to be in each other’s company, they embark on a journey around the globe with stops at modernized towns and revolutionized cities that were once flooded by She herself or torn down during Roman-aged wars. Perhaps flying in a giant tin can does terrify Crowley, and Aziraphale might have his own mischievous side when it comes to booking their rooms, but meals spent seaside and drained bottles of wine more than account for awkward silences that follow surprised hand-holding and shared reassurances following nightmares.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	1. Drunken Planning

**Author's Note:**

> i've been working on this bad boy since the end of the summer and i'm so excited to finally start posting it! it's got 6(?) chapters, and they will ALL be posted by January 27th!
> 
> my lovely artist for this big bang is @cardboardfisher and the art they've made for this fic will appear in the final chapter!!
> 
> now for a long list of thank you's to everyone who helped me with this fic!
> 
> i'd like to start with my amazing beta, @amavyllis / @rihvril for taking this mess of a fic and turning it into something amazing.
> 
> for everyone who inspired me along the way and made being part of this community so much fun: @pearll09, @EmAndFandems, @Handlebarstiedtothestars, @Aughtpunk, @Atmilliways, and @Faeblesmith
> 
> and for writing my amazing summary for me, @feedmemesandbees
> 
> if i've forgotten anyone im so sorry, there were so many people who helped me with this fic i love you all!

If you were to look closely at the world through a telescope from far away, and you zoomed in on Soho, London, and then zoomed in even farther to a small corner bookshop owned by a rather primly dressed man whose fashion sense seemed to be stuck in the 1900s, you would be witness to two interesting things. One of these things was that said man was currently getting rip-roaringly drunk with another man who was as lanky as they came, with fiery red hair and dark sunglasses. And two, that they never seemed to be getting up to refill their glasses. 

Of course, these aforementioned men were not actually _men_. They were simply man-shaped beings, and were, in reality, a giant glowing ball of white light with hundreds of blue eyes and a large black snake, respectively. In simpler terms, they were an angel and a demon; one righteous, one Fallen. These two man-shaped beings had recently saved the world from its impending doom and had taken it upon themselves to get absolutely plastered because when you’re immortal, what’s stopping you? Now if you got even closer and somehow had a telescope with amazing audio capabilities, you would find that the red-haired demon was drunkenly blabbering about going to see a show, though he might as well have been saying “shoe” for how slurred his words were. Despite the demon’s alcohol-fueled ramblings, the angel seemed to understand what he was saying.

“Oh, a show would be lovely, Crowley!” the white-haired angel exclaimed, his voice crisp and clear despite the copious amounts of alcohol running through his body.

“Yeh, a show, like uh, like, uh...” the demon trailed off and he snapped his fingers, his face wrinkling in confusion.

“Hamlet!” cried the angel excitedly, jumping up from the couch upon which the two had been sitting. Wine sloshed over the rim of his glass, though it never seemed to touch the floor. 

“I made that blessed play happen, you know,” said Crowley, leaning towards the angel. “If it weren’t for me, that _sponge_ [1] never would have gotten _anywhere_ with that thing. 

The angel snorted in response, a rather undignified sound for such a dignified man. “And if it weren’t for _me_ , you wouldn’t have even done the miracle in the first place!” 

The demon frowned melodramatically before replying. “S’true, I suppose. You know I prefer the funny ones. I wouldn’t have given Hamlet two flying ducks if it weren’t for you.” Crowley snorted and knocked back the rest of his wine. His glass immediately refilled itself. Not because it was being summoned, no; Crowley just expected there to be more wine, and so there was. “But ‘m seriousss, Aziraphale, letsss go sssee a play,” the demon continued, the wine having hit him hard enough that the hiss in his voice began to creep back. It was an expected side effect of being _the_ snake from the Garden of Eden. “We could even go sssee it at the Globe.” 

The Globe, of course, was where Aziraphale and Crowley had met and tossed a coin for who got to go to Scotland to perform a miracle, and where Aziraphale had begged Crowley to get people to come see Shakespeare’s _Hamlet_. The angel seemed to consider this for a moment before agreeing, nodding his head emphatically. 

“Oh, the Globe! It’s a shame what happened though, I quite prefer the original,” he replied, pouting. The Globe had burned down in 1613, which was quite a long time ago, but when you’re immortal, the passage of time is not something you pay much attention to. This should not be shocking to learn, as you’re looking at an angel who calls The Velvet Underground ‘bebop.’ “I believe they are showing Hamlet soon, actually!” Aziraphale added, gesturing at the demon with his wine glass before bringing it back to his lips and taking a sip. 

“Let’sss go sssee it then!” Crowley exclaimed with much more enthusiasm than his sober self would allow. Then, without another word, the demon promptly passed out, sprawled across Aziraphale’s couch now that the angel had moved. Crowley dropped his wine glass, and Aziraphale quickly miracled it out of existence before it spilled everywhere. After a moment’s thought, the angel sent his own glass with it before he moved back over to the couch, draping a blanket over the demon. Smiling softly, Aziraphale stumbled down the hall and up the stairs, flopping into his own bed. The angel rarely slept; that was something he left to Crowley, but after countless bottles of vintage wines he was quite looking forward to sleeping it off. Could he just miracle himself sober? Sure. But was that as enjoyable? No, especially not when it left such a horrible taste in your mouth. Without another thought, the angel drifted off into a deep sleep, not even bothering to take off his shoes. 

************

Crowley woke with a pounding headache and winced. It was the only part of drinking that he wasn’t fond of. The rest was one of the few human inventions he could get behind. He also woke with something scratchy against his face. It was at that moment he realized his face was smushed into Aziraphale’s old, tartan couch. He groaned and sat up, immediately miracling away his headache. He stood and stretched, his body bending in ways it probably shouldn’t. He might have missed some hip bones when he had created his human form. Crowley found Aziraphale in the kitchen, a mug of tea in his hands and a similar one on the counter. 

“Mornin’, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled when the demon walked in and gestured towards the mug on the counter. “For you, dear.”

Crowley nodded and mumbled his thanks, picking up the cup before leaning back against the countertop. He was given enough time to take one sip of his tea before Aziraphale started speaking. 

“I called the Globe as soon as they opened this morning and booked us tickets to go see Hamlet this coming Tuesday.” Crowley nodded but did not speak. Aziraphale paused for a moment, worried. “I do hope you still want to go,” he added, placing his mug on the counter and wringing his hands. “I-I’m sure I can cancel the tickets if you’ve changed your mind.” 

Crowley looked up, taking in the worry on the angel’s face. “What in Satan’s name are you talking about? Of course I still want to go!”

Aziraphale frowned. “I was just checking. You _were_ quite drunk last night.”

“Angel, it’s the _Globe_. With _you_. Of course I want to go.”

Aziraphale smiled softly then froze when he realized what Crowley had said. _‘It’s the Globe. With you.’_ What did Crowley mean, _with him_? He couldn’t possibly feel the same way. Could he? Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he’d do if Crowley admitted such things. He’d suppressed and ignored his own feelings for Crowley for so long. Even the slightest idea that the demon reciprocated those emotions was enough to send Aziraphale clutching for the edge of the counter. Crowley raised his eyebrows.

“Alright, Aziraphale?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “You look rather faint.”

Aziraphale nodded. “No, I’m fine dear. Perfectly… fine.” Aziraphale was not fine. He was, actually, quite the opposite of fine. However, if your definition of fine was the feeling you get when you just submitted an exam and realized you forgot to do the back page, then yes, Aziraphale was fine. He was certainly not having an internal Armageddon over the possibility that Crowley returned his feelings. No, not at all. Clearing his throat, Aziraphale said, “Well, my dear, I do have some errands to run, so I’d best be off! Do lock up when you leave.” He fled the bookshop, trying to get as far away from the kitchen, which had seemed to be growing smaller and smaller the longer he stood in it. He thought he heard Crowley calling after him, but he was too distraught to discern whether it was real or not. 

Aziraphale did not actually have any errands to run, however, and quickly found himself unsure of where to go. Settling on a plan, he got a croissant from a local bakery and began idly browsing the multitude of shops that Soho offered. Anything to take his mind off the rush of emotions flooding his chest.

A few hours later, when Aziraphale returned to the bookshop, he found it empty, except for a note from Crowley that read:

_Went home. Needed to water the plants. See you Tuesday.  
~ Crowley_

Aziraphale was relieved to find the demon gone. He normally enjoyed Crowley’s presence, but feeling so unstable, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to handle the demon being around him. The angel prepared a cup of tea and settled into his armchair with his current re(-re-re-re)-read, _‘A Picture of Dorian Gray.’_ He had three days until their show at the Globe. Three days to right himself and talk himself down from the precarious ledge he was standing on. He huffed, settling deeper into the chair. He just hoped Crowley was alright.

********

Crowley, however, was not alright. He was actually pretending that he was alright, while pacing around his sparse living room and grumbling frustratedly at his plants.

“Why the heaven did I have to say that?” he cursed, flinging his hands in the air. “I could have stopped! Could have just said I wanted to go!” he continued, ripping off his glasses and tossing them onto the coffee table, revealing entirely yellow eyes. “But no! I had to say ‘oh, I’d love to go with you, angel, oh it’s you, angel!’” he said, mocking his own voice. 

After Aziraphale had left, Crowley had spent approximately sixteen seconds standing frozen in the angel’s kitchen before writing a note and all but sprinting out of the bookshop and into his Bentley. He’d spent an hour driving aimlessly around the city before returning to his flat to let his rage out at the only things in existence he’d share such thoughts with: his plants. The greenery in the demon’s flat had taken the brunt of Crowley’s rage since he first read about talking to plants back in the 1970s. Rather than talk, however, he tended to scream and vent about all his problems. That and threaten them the moment he saw a spot. But most of his venting revolved around one thing and one thing only: Aziraphale. His plants had become quite acquainted with the angel, though they had only seen him a handful of times. It was usually the same. Crowley would rant on and on about something the angel did that day, or something the angel said that day. The plants, quite frankly, were growing [2] tired of it. It was refreshing to hear Crowley rant about his own mistakes for once. 

The plants were quite smug about it, and Crowley could tell. 

“Oh, cut it out with that _shit_ ,” he said stopping in front of a large philodendron. It was the most rebellious of his plants, and Crowley knew the look it was giving him. “Don’t stand there acting all smug, Mr. I’ve-never-had-a-spot,” he hissed, making the plant tremble slightly. Crowley backed up and resumed his pacing. Three days until he’d have to see Aziraphale. Three days to get his feelings in order to contain that thing raging in his chest. He huffed and fell backwards onto the couch. 

It was going to be a long three days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1"take you me for a sponge?" Hamlet (4.2.13)Return to text
> 
> 2pun completely intendedReturn to text


	2. Fashion, Flying, and Facing Fears

Aziraphale tapped his foot impatiently on the sidewalk. Crowley was late. And Crowley was never late. The angel huffed and leaned back against the wall of his bookshop. He checked his watch again. 6:04 pm. Crowley was _supposed_ to pick him up at 6:00. Aziraphale knew Crowley was aware that he liked to be punctual. Why the demon was behind schedule was beyond him.

Crowley was, in fact, aware that Aziraphale liked to be on time to things. This is why the demon was currently going 90 mph through the streets of London, muttering curses under his breath. One might be asking why Crowley was late. Well, though he would never admit it, Crowley had lost track of time while figuring out what to wear. He knew Aziraphale would just wear his usual cream-coloured suit and vest, but Crowley wanted to spice things up a little bit. He ended up just choosing a deep, blood red shirt instead of his usual black. When he finally made this oh-so-momentous decision, he realized he should have left over five minutes ago. Crowley’s Bentley finally screeched up to the curb in front of the bookshop, six minutes and twenty-two seconds late. 

Aziraphale huffed and opened the passenger side door, letting out an annoyed sigh as he sat down. Crowley immediately pulled away from the curb and sped towards the Globe. 

“Care to explain your tardiness, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, folding his hands in his lap.

Crowley groaned. “I’m sorry, angel, I lost track of time,” he replied, glancing over at the angel.

“And what were you doing that caused you to be so careless?” 

“I was, um, picking out a shirt.”

“Picking out a shirt?!” answered Aziraphale, his voice dripping with skepticism. “You wear almost the same thing every day, what could _possibly_ be so pressing — ” he stopped when he caught sight of the deep red shirt the demon was wearing. “ _Oh_ ,” he said, falling silent. 

Crowley swallowed, but said nothing. Aziraphale tried his best to ignore how good Crowley looked in that shirt. He also tried to ignore the flush creeping up the demon’s neck. Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“Well, it looks very good on you, Crowley,” he said after a moment. The demon looked so nice, it was almost worth running late for. 

Crowley took a shuddering breath before replying. “Thank you, angel.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence, only speaking once they arrived at the theatre. 

“I’ll park, you get in line,” Crowley said as Aziraphale got out of the car. When he returned, he found the angel holding their tickets inside. “Ah, there you are, angel,” he said, rubbing his hands together as he looked around the theatre. “Ready then?” he asked, gesturing towards the inner entrance. Aziraphale nodded and handed their tickets to an usher, who showed them to their seats. They were close to the front, not far from where they had once stood, all those years ago. As they sat down, Crowley looked around and hummed, content. 

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. “You seem awfully cheery, Crowley.” 

Crowley raised his eyebrows and turned to look at the angel. Golden eyes locked onto sky blue, and Crowley was taken back to that day in 1601. The look on the angel’s face when he all but begged him to perform that miracle… Crowley couldn’t stand it. It made his heart twist. He blinked rapidly and the room came into focus again. Aziraphale was waving a hand in front of Crowley’s face. 

“Crowley? Croowwwleyy?” he cooed, trying to catch the demon’s attention.

“Hmm, what, yeah, cheery, right.” He cleared his throat and stood. “I’m gonna, uh, grab a drink, want anything?”

“Er, no, I’m alright dear.”

Crowley rushed off, stumbling up one of the steps in his haste. Aziraphale frowned, but turned his attention back to the stage. 

*********************

Just as the lights were beginning to dim, Crowley returned, latte in hand. Aziraphale glanced at the demon but did not speak, quickly flicking his gaze back to the stage. Crowley let out a shaky breath and set his arm upon their shared armrest, his dangling fingers not quite grazing Aziraphale’s thigh. Neither moved for the rest of the show, but Aziraphale couldn’t keep his mind from wandering from the play. He quite enjoyed theatre, and didn’t like being distracted from it. What his mind was wandering to, however, was almost worth it. He was thinking about when Crowley agreed to miracle Hamlet to fame. Aziraphale hadn’t even _asked_ him, at least not verbally. Yet the demon did it anyway. It was then that Aziraphale realized that Crowley was, if only slightly, a good person. Aziraphale wasn’t sure when he started loving Crowley—if that’s even what you could call it. Was there even a word for that feeling you have for someone when you’ve spent the past six thousand years with them? He recalled something he had heard once, something Greek. _Pragma_ , that must be it. That was the best way to describe it. Nothing would ever perfectly describe the heart-wrenching, wholly consuming, overbearing love he felt for the demon. But _pragma_ would have to do. 

Before he knew it, the play was over and Aziraphale was out of the theatre and standing at the curb waiting for Crowley to bring the car around. When the black Bentley appeared, Aziraphale wordlessly slid into the passenger seat. Crowley cast a quick glance at him but pulled out of the parking lot without saying anything. After a few minutes, the demon cleared his throat.

“Hey, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale started, and turned to look at Crowley. “Yes, dear?”

“Well, I was thinking, er, what if we… I don’t know, what if we visited some other places we met throughout the years?” he asked, hands tightening around the steering wheel. 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and a smile bloomed on his face. “Crowley, what a lovely idea!” he cried, clapping his hands. Crowley relaxed, loosening his grip on the practically useless steering wheel. “Where would you want to go?” Aziraphale asked, his demeanor completely changed to the point where he was grinning like a fool. 

“Well, er, maybe Paris and Rome?” 

“Oh yes! We could get crepes and oysters!” Aziraphale replied excitedly, miracling a pen and paper out of nowhere. He started jotting down place names. “How about Germany?” he added and, when Crowley nodded, he added it to the list.

“We could do Dorset,” Crowley suggested. “I mean, it’s the closest we can probably get to Wessex.”

“Oh that would be lovely! I heard they have lovely beaches.” Aziraphale replied, writing that down too. “I didn’t really get the chance to visit them last time, being too busy _thwarting your wiles_ and what-not,” he added, laughing softly. Crowley snorted, shaking his head. 

“Hey, you could have just agreed to the Arrangement then and it would have saved us a whole lot of trouble.”

“Yes, well, we’re here now, aren't we?” 

“Yeah, angel, I suppose we are.” Crowley contentedly tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, and they lapsed into a more comfortable silence than before. 

**********************

When the Bentley pulled up to the curb in front of the bookshop, Aziraphale hopped out and leaned back in through the open window. 

“I’ll start planning! Oh!” he said excitedly, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. “We should do this the human way!”

“The human way?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes! We should use those lovely human inventions, what are they called? Oh, yes, airplanes!” 

“Ah. Sure, angel, sounds good,” Crowley replied, drumming his hands on the dashboard. “I’ll come over tomorrow, yeah, and we can go over things?”

Aziraphale nodded, waving as the demon sped off down the street. Once inside, Aziraphale hung up his coat and hurried over to his desk, where he pulled out a pad of paper and an old, cheap plastic computer that looked like it was from the early 2000’s but worked like it was brand new. Aziraphale didn’t know how computers worked but he assumed that they, like everything else in the modern world, were fast, and so the computer was. The angel hardly ever used it, but he figured that booking flights would probably be easier this way. He sat there throughout the night, booking flights and hotels, and writing their itinerary down on the paper beside him. Outside, the street lights came on, the sky grew dark then light again, and Aziraphale still did not move. Only a loud knocking on the door shook him from his fixation. He rose to answer it, finding Crowley standing on the doorstep. 

“Crowley? I thought you were coming back tomorrow?” Aziraphale asked, brow wrinkling in confusion.

Crowley shook his head and chuckled. “Angel, it _is_ tomorrow. Quite well into tomorrow I might add, it’s nearly noon!” He stepped past Aziraphale and into the bookshop, kicking off his boots and throwing his jacket onto the hanger. 

“What were you doing all night?” he asked as the angel shut the door and went to the kitchen to prepare tea.

“I was planning our trip, I must have gotten too caught up in it all,” Aziraphale replied, returning to where Crowley had settled into the couch, handing a mug to the demon.

“Well, let’s see it then!” Crowley sat up, making room beside him on the couch for the angel. Aziraphale grabbed the stack of papers from his desk and sat down, setting his mug on the coffee table. 

The trip was planned down to the minute it seemed, Aziraphale having accounted for every possible issue or delay. They would fly out to Paris next Wednesday, and spend a day there before heading to Rome. After that, they’ll fly back to Germany, before finishing out their trip in Dorset. Their flights were paid for, their hotels were booked. Crowley looked up from the schedule, the angel still looking at the paper. The sheer joy on Aziraphale’s face hit Crowley like a bible to the stomach, but in a good way. 

“This looks great, angel.”

“You think so?” Aziraphale asked, unsure.

Crowley nodded. “Of course, angel, it’s perfect.” The demon cut off his voice before the rest of the sentence spilled out. _Just like you_. He couldn’t say that. What would Aziraphale think? Crowley couldn’t bear to hear that kind of rejection. It would feel like a hundred bibles to the stomach.

Aziraphale clapped his hands and took a sip of his tea, and Crowley couldn’t help but notice that the angel’s face was practically glowing, a smile spread from ear to ear on his face. It was only when Aziraphale waved a hand in front of Crowley’s face that he realized he had been staring. 

“Are you quite alright, dear?”

“Hm, oh yes, quite fine,” Crowley replied, blinking rapidly. “I, er, best be off then, I guess I’ll see you on Wednesday?” 

Aziraphale frowned but nodded, watching as Crowley shut the bookshop door behind him. _How peculiar_ , Aziraphale thought, rubbing his hands together anxiously. That was twice now that Crowley had been acting odd. Yet Aziraphale could not figure out why. He sighed and settled back into the couch, miracling a book into his hand, his mug of tea in the other. Whatever it was that was bothering Crowley, he was clearly going to have to wait until Wednesday to find out. 

********************************************

The look on Crowley’s face when he saw Aziraphale’s luggage was one of complete shock, disgust and horror all mixed into one. This would be because Aziraphale, who was evidently still stuck in the 1900’s, decided that the most appropriate choice of luggage for a modern-day vacation was a huge, tartan-patterned steamer trunk. 

“What in heaven’s name is that thing?” Crowley asked in horror. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. 

“These were the trend back in the day, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah but we’re not ‘back in the day’ anymore!” Crowley replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. “There is no way they’re going to let you check this at the airport.” 

“Well, we’ll have to find out,” Aziraphale huffed, snapping his fingers. The trunk moved itself into the boot of Crowley’s car next to the demon’s luggage. “Really, dear, is that quite necessary?” the angel asked, shaking his head at Crowley’s black, faux snakeskin patterned suitcases. 

“Is THAT?” the demon replied, gesturing at the huge steamer trunk. 

Aziraphale mumbled unintelligibly under his breath and slid into the passenger seat. Crowley shook his head but shut the boot without another word, hopping into the driver’s side. He sped off before Aziraphale could even buckle his seatbelt, earning a disapproving huff from the angel. 

They reached Gatwick Airport in record time, thanks to Crowley’s _stellar_ driving (though “stellar” is not quite the word Aziraphale would use), and handed the keys to the valet. The man who took their keys was only slightly perplexed at how they got their luggage out of the boot so quickly. They headed inside, both of them in awe, having never been in an airport before. 

“Ah, there it is,” Aziraphale said, nudging Crowley to the left towards the baggage check. 

The attendant greeted them cheerily as they approached, seemingly having _miraculously_ arrived when there was no line. “Hi there, could I get your passports please?” she asked, holding out a perfectly manicured hand. 

“Here you go dearie,” Aziraphale replied, reaching into a pocket to grab their passports that hadn’t even existed until a moment before. 

“Thank you!” she replied, and then came the time Crowley had been dreading: sending off their luggage. He cringed, mortified, as the woman’s eyebrows rose at the sight of Aziraphale’s trunk. “My, that is quite the piece of luggage you have there!” she exclaimed, glancing around. Crowley knew she wasn’t going to let them through, but after some gentle demonic intervention she stuck the tag on and sent it through, followed closely by Crowley’s “chic” baggage. “And there are your boarding passes, have a splendid flight!” she said, waving forward the next people in line.

After making their way quickly through security, Aziraphale and Crowley still had plenty of time to kill before their flight. They sat down at one of the restaurants and each ordered a glass of wine. 

Aziraphale raised his glass to Crowley’s, the deep red liquid tilting inside. The demon raised his to the angel’s and clinked them together.

“To… us. And a new adventure!” Aziraphale said softly, taking a sip. Crowley settled back in his chair, one leg hooked over the arm. Aziraphale shook his head at Crowley’s posture, but smiled regardless. 

They slowly made their way through one glass of wine, then another, and then Aziraphale ordered a cheese board and ate that too. Soon, they were called for boarding, and made their way to the queue. Crowley could not stand still. He fidgeted, moving his fingers, his eyes. Aziraphale glanced at him, worried. Before he could ask if he was okay, the flight attendant asked for their boarding passes. Aziraphale handed them to the man, and as they made their way down the tunnel, he gently placed a hand on Crowley’s arm. 

Crowley glanced at the angel, anxiety pulsing through his veins. 

“Are you quite alright, dear? Only you seem quite agitated.” Aziraphale asked, furrowing his brow.

“M’fine,” Crowley replied, though he was clearly _not_ fine. Aziraphale frowned and did not bring it up again. They were sitting business class and had a row to themselves. Aziraphale had the window seat and was bouncing his knees excitedly. While the angel was practically radiating excitement, Crowley could not have been more of the opposite. He sat rigidly in the chair, feet planted firmly on the floor, hands tightly clutching the arm rests. 

As the plane rumbled to life and began taxing down the runway, Aziraphale clapped his hands in excitement, while Crowley squeezed his eyes shut. Before either of them knew it, the plane was in the air.

“Crowley look, you can see all of London from here!” Aziraphale cried, exhilarated. “It’s wonderful!”

“Aziraphale, you have _wings_ . You can _fly_. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen London from this high up before,” Crowley replied, eyes still shut. 

“Well, yes, of course, but it’s different when you’re, you know, in an airplane!” 

Despite Aziraphale’s earlier worry at Crowley’s anxiousness, he had seemingly forgotten all about it.

“Look at these lovely clouds, Crowley!” the angel cried delightedly. Crowley nodded, still not looking out the window out of fear that he would either cry, puke or both. 

“Yep, mhm, lovely,” he muttered, eyes shut tight. 

The flight time from London to Paris is just over an hour. For Aziraphale, that was far too short a time. For Crowley, it was unbearably long. And this is coming from a demon who’s been on earth for 6000 years. So, while Aziraphale gazed, awestruck, out the window, emitting _ooh_ ’s and _ah_ ’s every so often, Crowley kept his hands tight to the armrest, eyes squeezed shut, flinching at the slightest turbulence. Because, while he would never tell it to Aziraphale, he had only flown once since the Fall. Hadn’t even fluttered his wings other than that. And flying, either in a plane or with wings, was something he had avoided as much as possible. Now, finally forced into being airborne again, he was consumed with an utterly disastrous sense of fear and anxiety. 


	3. Crepes and Crying

Once the plane landed and Aziraphale and Crowley had retrieved their bags (which were the first ones out at baggage claim with absolutely no demonic interference -- Crowley just wanted to get out of the airport as fast as possible), they hailed a taxi and were off to their hotel. Aziraphale had chosen a luxurious hotel, their room a suite with a balcony that looked out over the Seine. As the cab pulled up to the curb out front of the hotel, Crowley paid the driver and they took their luggage and stepped inside, sunshine glinting off the big glass front doors. The lobby was posh, and the man at the desk smiled as they entered. 

“Ah, bonjour monsieur!” Aziraphale called, pulling his trunk behind him as he walked up to the counter. Crowley was only slightly surprised at how natural the angel’s french sounded. 

“Bonjour et bienvenue!” the man replied, and him and Aziraphale exchanged a few words before the angel was handed the key to their room and pointed off in the direction of the lifts. 

As the door to the lift clanged shut, Crowley leaned back against the side. “Didn’t know you still spoke French, Aziraphale,” he said, making sure no one would get on the lift with them before flipping his glasses to the top of his head. “Quite impressive, actually.” Crowley had never been one to master languages.

Aziraphale blushed. “Ah, thank you, dear,” he replied, fiddling with the room key in his hands. “I figured I should refresh my memory of it before we left, you see, so I spent a couple of days on this  _ wonderful _ website called, oh, what was it?” He tapped the key on his chin. “Ah, yes! Duo...lingo? Yes that’s it, I believe! It has the most  _ adorable _ little character!” he exclaimed, smiling fondly at the thought of the little green owl. “It was a little rude sometimes though, kept telling me to study!” he huffed, shaking his head. 

Crowley suppressed a chuckle because of course he knew about Duolingo. And of course he knew about the overly-insistent green owl. He had inspired the developer to make it for crying out loud. An annoying language app that feels vaguely threatening but does not bring  _ actual _ harm to people? Right up Crowley’s alley. 

“Very nice, angel.” Crowley replied, nodding, the faintest smile playing on his lips. 

The lift doors opened onto the seventh floor, and they headed to their room. As they walked in, Crowley dropped his suitcase with a thud. 

“Angel, there’s only  _ one bed! _ ” he cried, not exactly upset at the situation, just mildly shocked. 

Aziraphale flushed. “Er, yes, dear, their double rooms were, er, completely booked.” 

Crowley nodded and blinked a few times before picking up his fallen suitcase and beginning to unpack. What Aziraphale actually meant was: ‘ _ there were lots of rooms available but I wanted the chance to share a bed with you because I am so totally into you and I don’t know how else to go about it _ ’. Clearing his throat, Aziraphale opened the curtains and stepped out onto the balcony. 

“Wow,” he said, breathless. Crowley came out to join him, leaning forward on the railing. “It’s beautiful, Crowley.”

“Yeah, beautiful,” the demon replied, but Crowley didn’t know if he was talking about the view or the angel standing next to him. Aziraphale’s face was full of awe as he took in the view. The pure joy on his face send pangs of longing to Crowley’s heart and he cleared his throat before moving back inside, desperate to escape the feelings flooding his chest. 

After they had unpacked and changed out of their plane clothes, Aziraphale and Crowley set out for some lunch. And of course, they were going to have crepes. Aziraphale remembered the location of the creperie they had eaten at after Crowley had saved him from the bastille back in 1793. On their walk over, they passed through the latin quarter, where a man called out to them from the front of a shop. 

“Bonjour, monsieur Fell!” the man called from underneath a ridiculous handlebar mustache. 

“Ah, hello Cecil!” Aziraphale replied, waving at the man as they passed. 

Crowley turned to the angel, confused. “You know that guy?!” he asked, furrowing his brows. 

Aziraphale nodded. “Ah yes, lovely ol’ chap, they serve the best fondue at that place!” he replied, nodding. Crowley blinked twice and shook his head, making note of this new information for later. After a few more minutes of walking, they arrived at the creperie. It looked just like Crowley remembered it, and Aziraphale clapped his hands excitedly. A bell jingled as they walked in, and a waitress guided them to a table and handed them two menus. 

“You having the apple, brie, and honey again?” Crowley asked off-hand, his face hidden behind the menu. 

Aziraphale froze. How did Crowley remember that? It was so long ago! The angel coughed and shrugged. “Mm, perhaps, it was quite good!” he answered, deciding to brush it off. “How about you, dear?”

Crowley set down the menu and drummed his fingers on the table. “Order me whatever you think I’d like, angel.”

Aziraphale considered this, and when the waitress came back to take their order, he ordered an apple, honey, and brie crepe for himself, and a spinach and ricotta crepe for Crowley, since he knew the demon wouldn’t finish it and Aziraphale liked those too. The wait for the crepes wasn’t too long, and as they were eating, they reminisced about the last time they were in France together. 

“I’m very thankful, you know, for you saving me from beheading and all,” Aziraphale said, dabbing his lips with a napkin. Crowley grunted in response and he took a bite of the spinach and ricotta crepe. He liked it, but he hadn’t doubted that he would. 

“Was no big deal, angel. All I had to do was pop across the channel.”

This caused Aziraphale to pause. “You were in England?! I thought you were already in Paris!” he exclaimed, setting his fork down onto the plate. 

Crowley realized what he had just admitted. “Er, yeah, I uh, wasn’t in France.”

Aziraphale’s face grew concerned. “But.. but..” 

“Really, angel, it was no big deal. I just, I dunno, felt something calling me to Paris so I came over and then I heard something about this Englishman being held in the cells at bastille and I decided I would go to take a look,” he replied, taking a sip of water. “And then I found you, so…” he shrugged. 

Aziraphale couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How did Crowley sense that he was in trouble? That shouldn’t be possible. 

“You came across the English channel just for me?” Aziraphale asked, unable to decipher the feelings flooding his chest. 

Crowley twisted the table cloth between his fingers, eyes darting everywhere except the angel’s face. Aziraphale pondered for a moment, then, on impulse, reached across the table and grabbed Crowley’s hand. He squeezed it, prompting the demon to meet his gaze. At that moment, Aziraphale wished he could take those glasses off Crowley’s face, just so he could see the demon’s golden eyes. 

“Thank you, dear.” Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s hand in both of his, and they sat like that for a few moments. When Aziraphale released Crowley’s hand, the demon felt himself missing the warm touch of the angel’s skin against his.

He cleared his throat and took another bite of crepe before sliding the rest of the plate to Aziraphale, who was already halfway through his own meal. 

They ate in comfortable silence, then, after paying their bill, they left the creperie to wander the Paris streets. It wasn’t long before Aziraphale spotted a bakery on a street corner. 

“Oh, look at this lovely bakery, Crowley!” Eagerly, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand and pulled him towards the beckoning smell of freshly baked bread. Crowley stumbled along after Aziraphale who never walked this fast unless there was food involved. As they stepped into the shop, they both inhaled deeply. The scent of baked goods filled the air, the hearty smell of bread mixed with the sweet scent of the array of desserts at the counter. Aziraphale spotted a pyramid of eclairs and rushed over, immediately buying a dozen. He smiled with delight as he all but skipped out of the bakery, box of desserts in hand. Crowley shook his head but smiled as he followed the angel back out onto the street. 

“Oh my, these are quite delectable!” Aziraphale cried after biting into one of the pastries. “Would you like one?” he offered, mouth full of eclair. 

Crowley shook his head and laughed. “No, it’s alright, Angel, they’re all yours.”

“You’re missing out!” Aziraphale replied, though he wasn’t too upset about getting them to himself. They had only walked a bit farther down the cobblestone street, the warm sun combatting the brisk breeze before Aziraphale stopped them again.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed, grabbing the demon’s arm. He gestured to the window of a shop. “Look at that lovely scarf!” 

Crowley raised his eyebrows. The scarf in question appeared to be a cream-coloured wool with a pale pink tartan design. 

“Oh, I must get it!” Aziraphale shoved the box of eclairs into Crowley’s arms as he sped into the store. Crowley waited on the sidewalk, and Aziraphale returned moments later, scarf in hand. He immediately flung it around his neck, a look of content spreading across his face. “Well, dear, what do you think?” he asked. 

Crowley just stared. The cream colour matched the angel’s outfit perfectly, and the pink made for a lovely accent colour. Not to mention the fact that the angel was staring at him with this Look™ in his eyes and Crowley didn’t know how to handle himself. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, waving a hand in front of the demon’s face. 

Crowley coughed. “It’s… It really suits you, Aziraphale,” he managed to stutter. Aziraphale beamed and squeezed Crowley’s arm, offering to take the box of pastries back. Crowley shook his head.

“I can carry it, s’alright.” Crowley shook his head and gestured with his head that they keep walking. 

As it started to grow dark, the sun began to lose its battle with the wind, and Crowley shivered. Aziraphale took notice of this, and stopped Crowley, unwrapping the wool scarf from his own neck. He stepped closer to the demon, and began to gently wrap the scarf around him. This close, Crowley noticed the rosiness on the angel’s round cheeks, saw in detail the shine in his blue eyes. 

“Aziraphale, I- It’s fine, I-” Crowley tried to protest, but Aziraphale tutted at him. 

“No, no, dear, you’re practically freezing!” he exclaimed, placing a warm hand against Crowley’s cold cheek. Satisfied with his work, he patted Crowley’s shoulders and took the box of eclairs from the demon’s arms. As Crowley opened his mouth to protest (again), Aziraphale shook his head. 

“I am  _ perfectly capable _ of carrying this box myself, thank you.” Aziraphale popped open the lid and began to snack on another eclair. 

They made their way back to the hotel, where Aziraphale miracled up some tea (hotel tea, in Aziraphale’s opinion, was Hell’s invention, and should never be consumed because it was utterly revolting). He brought it out to the balcony where Crowley was already waiting, scarf still wrapped around his neck. Aziraphale handed the mug over, and they sat in content silence for a while, until Aziraphale decided to ask a question that had been bothering him since that afternoon. 

“Crowley?”

“Mm?”

“Did you know that it was me in danger? In Paris?”

Crowley was silent. Aziraphale did not push, and it wasn’t until a few minutes later that the demon decided to respond. 

“I knew something was wrong. Wrong with you. And I…” he hesitated, setting down his mug with shaking hands, a detail Aziraphale made sure to notice. “I… stopped what I was doing and I… flew here, to Paris,” he added, and, since he had left his glasses inside, avoided eye contact with the angel. 

“You flew across the English channel to save  _ me _ ?” Aziraphale cried, surprised.

“Heh, yeah, first time I’ve flown since… since I Fell and it was to save an angel. Ironic, huh.”

Aziraphale froze. “You- you haven’t flown since the Fall?” 

Crowley shook his head. “Well, except for that time. It…” He sighed and shook his head. Aziraphale, full of concern and distress, shifted closer to him and placed a hand on the demon’s knee. 

“Crowley?”

“I haven’t flown since I Fell and I hated every minute of it but I knew you needed me, and I knew I had to do it because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t…” his voice hitched and he turned his head away, squeezing his eyes shut. “If I didn’t save you.” he finished, setting his head in his hands. 

“Crowley…” Aziraphale said, voice barely a whisper. His eyes watered and he pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket. 

“S’fine, angel,” Crowley muttered, rubbing his temples. Again, like every other time Crowley says he is fine, he was not fine. 

“Why would you put yourself through that Crowley?” Aziraphale sniffled, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. 

Crowley did not reply, he just sat there, silent, body tense with the effort of not crying. Despite his best efforts, a tear slipped down his cheek. As he reached up a hand to flick it away, another droplet splashed onto his skin, followed quickly by a third. Before he knew it, Crowley was shaking, his body shuddering and heaving with each sob. He felt Aziraphale pull him closer, felt the angel wrap his arms around him. Without noticing, Crowley leaned in to the angel’s touch, savouring the warmth and comfort it brought him. Crowley had grown his hair out since the not-so-end of the world, and Aziraphale ran his fingers through it gently, an occasional tear falling from his blue eyes and disappearing into the demon’s ginger locks. 

They sat there, pressed tightly to each other, for Someone knows how long, until Crowley’s tears had subsided and his body stopped shaking. Realizing what he had admitted, Crowley edged out of Aziraphale’s arms, turning his away from the angel to face the night sky above them. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked tentatively, trying to catch a glimpse of the demon’s face. 

“‘M going for a walk. I’ll… be back in a bit,” Crowley muttered. He slipped back into the suite and out the door before Aziraphale could say another word. 

The angel swallowed and wrapped his arms around himself. He sat on the balcony for what could have been minutes or hours, his mind simultaneously racing with thoughts and blank at the same time. When he finally did move inside, his eyes fell on the spot where Crowley’s jacket had been. He noticed that the pink tartan scarf was gone as well. The realization sent a surge of emotion through the angel, but he couldn’t decipher what that emotion was. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to calm his racing heart. Climbing into one side of the bed, he let his head fall back onto the pillow. 

He still had no idea how to process what had happened out on the balcony. The fact that Crowley had flown all the way from England to France just to save him even though flying terrified the demon was all that Aziraphale could think about. How could someone, a demon at that, make that big of a sacrifice just to save someone’s life? Aziraphale could not wrap his mind around it.

As the angel turned the thought over and over again in his mind, he felt his eyelids grow heavy. As he fell asleep, he could only hope that Crowley would be there beside him when he woke. 

**********

While an angel slept in a hotel room, a demon wandered the streets of Paris, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, eyes glaring out at the world. He was angry, but only at himself. He was angry that he had been so vulnerable in front of Aziraphale. He was angry because he had sworn that he would never tell the angel about the flying, about saving him from the Bastille. And worst of all, Crowley was angry because he had walked out of the situation. He had left Aziraphale, emotional and distraught, alone in their hotel room. He felt so raw inside. He had never poured out his emotions like that before, and it hurt, but he also felt… relieved. He felt less burdened, but he felt, mostly, like an arse. 

As he kicked at a loose pebble, Crowley noticed twinkling lights out of the corner of his eye. He looked up, and saw, across the street, the Shakespeare and Company store, a warm glow emanating from inside the bookshop. Crowley hurried across the street, crossing his fingers that it was still open. He spotted a person inside and pulled open the door, a bell tinkling as it swung open. 

The woman in the shop looked up at the sound and walked over to him. “Désolé monsieur, I am just closing ze store, ” she said in a thick French accent.

Crowley shook his head. “Please, madame, I have to buy something for someone, I’ll be fast I promise,” he pleaded.

The woman must have seen the anguish behind his sunglass-covered eyes and, sighing, she nodded. “D’accord, but you only have cinq minutes,” she relented, walking behind the counter. 

Crowley darted off between the shelves, searching for something he knew Aziraphale would love. His eyes scanned the shelves, darting from book to book. That was when he spotted it. A vintage copy of Hamlet. He grabbed it and winded back through the shelves to the front counter. 

“Would you like zat stamped?” the woman asked as she rang up his purchase. 

“Please.”

She nodded and proceeded to press a large stamp on the inside of the book. Crowley paid and, after thanking the woman profusely, stepped back out into the chilly night, the book clutched tightly in his hands. He began to all but sprinted back to the hotel, unsure whether he wanted Aziraphale to be awake or not. He hadn’t realized how far from the hotel he had walked until his face felt like it was about to fall off from the cold. Aziraphale’s scarf was warm, but it did not do enough to combat the cold wind. 

Crowley weighed his options: walk whoever knows how much farther in the cold, or take a taxi. When another cold gust of wind cut through his jacket, he flagged down a passing taxi and gave the driver the name of the hotel.

After a short ride, Crowley paid the driver and made his way up to their room. He slowly opened the door, trying to be as quiet as possible in case Aziraphale was sleeping. He silently shut the door behind him and caught a glimpse of the angel snuggled up in bed. Aziraphale was snoring softly, and Crowley felt a flicker of a smile form on his lips. He stuffed the newly purchased book in his suitcase and oh-so-carefully settled into the bed next to Aziraphale. The warmth coming from the angel was borderline intoxicating, as the heat crept into his bones and warmed him from the inside out. As the demon shifted slightly, he felt the angel stir beside him.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale muttered, squinting in the dark room.

“Yeah, angel. Listen, er, I’m sorry, about, you know,  _ all that _ ,” Crowley replied, setting his sunglasses on the bedside table. 

Aziraphale watched as the demon’s golden eyes cut through the darkness like the star the wisemen followed all those years ago, a beacon of hope in the sky. The angel smiled softly.

“It’s alright, dear, and…” he hesitated as his hand searched for the demon’s. Aziraphale found it, and squeezed it tight. “Thank you.”

“What for?” Crowley asked, his gaze focused on where Aziraphale held the demon’s hand in his own. 

“For saving me from getting beheaded just because I wanted crepes. And just, for a lot of other things too.” 

Crowley felt like his chest was cracking open, it ached so much. He could just see the outline of the angel’s face in the dark room, and he forced his yellow eyes to meet Aziraphale’s bright blue ones.. 

“Goodnight, angel.” he said, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand before turning onto his side and closing his eyes.

Aziraphale, eyes half closed, sighed contentedly and, much happier than he was when he first fell asleep, drifted off again.

Even though neither of them could decipher the feelings swirling through their minds, things seemed, at least for now, a little bit better. And as an angel and a demon slept in a hotel in Paris, the stars burned a little brighter, the wind blew a little softer, and Parisians everywhere seemed a little bit happier. 


	4. Oysters and Historical Inaccuracy

The next day, after a quick miracle to get Aziraphale’s luggage checked, Crowley led the way through security. Since the previous night, neither had spoken much, not during the taxi ride to the airport or when they arrived. As they cleared security, Aziraphale was struck with a realization. He turned to Crowley, who was browsing a selection of colognes in the duty free store. 

“Is it with planes too?” he asked abruptly.

Crowley didn’t look up from the glass bottles. “What?” he asked, picking up a crystal bottle with a fancy-looking label.

“The… flight anxiety,” Aziraphale clarified. “Does it happen on planes too?”

This caught Crowley’s attention. He set the cologne back on the table and turned to the angel, who was staring intently at him. The demon cleared his throat. After pouring out so many emotions last night, he did not feel eager to do it again, no matter whether he felt good afterwards or not. He did not like being so vulnerable. 

“What do you mean, angel?” he asked, stalling until he could come up with an acceptable answer.

“You said you hated flying and I noticed before our flight to Paris you seemed quite uncomfortable,” Aziraphale replied, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I know you don’t want to talk about it but I can’t just let that go, Crowley,” he added, anguish and empathy for the demon flooding his chest. 

When Crowley did not respond, Aziraphale stepped closer and reached out to take the demon’s hand. At Aziraphale’s touch, Crowley jerked his arm away. He didn’t realize what he had done until he saw the hurt on the angel’s face.

“Angel, I…” he began, unable to bear looking into Aziraphale’s eyes, to see the anguish in them. He reached out and placed a hand on the angel’s shoulder, mentally cursing himself for his prior movements. “I’m sorry. I just… don’t like talking about it.” he answered finally, eyes flicking everywhere but the angel. 

Aziraphale softened. He didn’t want to push the demon any further. The angel reached up and very slowly lifted Crowley’s hand off his shoulder and took it gently in his own. This time, Crowley did not resist the contact. Slowly, the demon raised his eyes to meet Aziraphale’s. He knew that despite the sunglasses, the angel could tell where he was looking. 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t notice before. So, so sorry,” Aziraphale began, eyes pleading. Crowley opened his mouth to interrupt but Aziraphale did not let him. “I want to help, however I can this time. If you need anything, during this flight or any other, you tell me, okay?” He asked, ensuring the demon was looking at him. Crowley swallowed. 

“Please, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked again, grasping for an answer, for anything, to be sure Crowley knew he was being serious.

Slowly, Crowley nodded, and watched as Aziraphale, seemingly pleased with the demon’s response, walked over to the snack section. Alone, Crowley felt his chest loosen, and his posture sagged, just slightly. He knew, after last night, that that would not be the last time he would have to talk about it. About… his fear. He hated calling it that.  _ Fear _ . Demon’s weren’t supposed to be scared of anything. Imagine that: a demon, with  _ fears _ . Hastur would have laughed at him, if Hastur ever laughed. But maybe fear was not the right word. It was  _ more _ than fear. Existential dread? Anxiety? He wasn’t sure. What he was sure of, though, was that Aziraphale was currently frowning at a display of sweets and he looked so  _ cute _ when he was angry and Crowley forgot about the anxiety. As he watched the angel, fret over which snack to buy, Crowley felt warm inside. It was that same fuzzy feeling he had every time he looked at the angel. It was a feeling he hated and loved at the same time. 

Crowley, finally realizing he was staring, cleared his throat and did his best to cooly saunter over to where Aziraphale was standing. 

“Need some help there, angel?” he asked, poking his head over the angel’s shoulder. 

Without glancing at him, Aziraphale clicked his tongue. “I can’t decide between a Flake or a Galaxy bar,” he replied, weighing the two chocolates in each hand. 

Crowley took this opportunity to be a bad influence. He flicked his tongue over his teeth and hissed low and breathy in Aziraphale’s ear. 

“Get bothhhh,” he whispered, mouth hovering over the pulse point in the angel’s neck. He waited a moment before he moved, slinking off to the drinks section, his cool, unbothered facade back in place. He was cocky- he knew what that did to Aziraphale. 

And Crowley was not wrong. Aziraphale’s neck tingled where Crowley’s warm breath had brushed his skin, and his eyelids fluttered once, twice, before he caught himself. Clearing his throat, the angel watched Crowley walk away, eyes  _ definitely not _ slowly scanning the demon up and down. 

“Wily old serpent,” Aziraphale muttered, shaking his head even though a smile danced on his lips. 

“I heard that!” called Crowley from the beverage section, browsing a selection of juices. 

Aziraphale shook his head and, with a quick glance over to where the demon was standing, comparing the ingredient lists of two bottles of juice, carried both chocolate bars over to the counter. He had not forgotten about earlier, but decided that it would be best for now to let the subject go. For now, Aziraphale just waited for Crowley to pick a drink and sent a quick miracle to the cashier because he could hear the two women behind them in line loudly complaining about something or another. 

As they walked out of the store, Aziraphale shook his head. 

“Karens,” he muttered irritably. 

Crowley choked on his drink. “Did you just say  _ Karens _ ?!” he asked incredulously.

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. “Yes. Have you not heard that expression?” he asked, smugly taking a bite of the Flake he had bought. 

“No, of course I have, I just was  _ not _ prepared for that,” Crowley replied, still in a state of shock. 

“I’m not wrong, though! They were being so  _ rude _ !” 

Crowley burst out into laughter, which caused Aziraphale to frown, which, in Crowley’s mind, made him look even more adorable, and then Crowley started laughing harder which only caused Aziraphale to get  _ more _ irritated, and they continued like this until they reached their gate.

“People are staring, Crowley,” Aziraphale admonished, looking around nervously. 

Crowley coughed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Right, angel, my bad, sorry,” he replied, taking a sip of juice to distract him from the look on Aziraphale’s face. It was hard for the demon to take him seriously when he got mad. Then, a flight attendant called their section for boarding and all laughter was sucked out of the demon as he and Aziraphale joined the line. 

*****************

As the plane prepared to take off, Aziraphale looked over at the demon next to him, eyes shut tight and hands clutching the arm rests. The plane wasn’t even in the air yet. Now that he was paying attention, Aziraphale scolded himself for not noticing it earlier. The angel reached over and placed his hands on top of the demon’s on the arm rest. 

Crowley opened his eyes and looked at the angel’s hand stacked on top of his. This time, he didn’t pull his hand away. 

Suddenly, the plane was in the sky and Aziraphale was watching in awe as the ground dropped out from beneath them. He could feel Crowley starting to relax, but when they hit a patch of turbulence the demon tensed up again, his breathing growing rapid. Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand tightly, and though Crowley would never admit it, the warm pressure of the angel’s hand on his helped to calm him down. Aziraphale made sure there was no more turbulence for the rest of the flight. 

Aziraphale looked out the window to watch the clouds passing by, and did not move his hand for the entire two hour flight. 

Crowley tried his best to stay calm, and luckily, trying not to think about Aziraphale’s hand holding his and what the feeling did to him really helped kill the rest of the flight. Crowley’s mind was so busy trying to sort through the emotions and the tingling feeling in his stomach that, before he knew it, they had landed and pulled up to the gate. He opened his eyes slowly and found the angel looking at him. Aziraphale gave a soft smile and squeezed the demon’s hand once more before letting go to undo his seatbelt. 

There was, again, no wait for their luggage (with absolutely  _ no _ demonic interference, mind you) and soon they were in a taxi on their way to the hotel. Aziraphale had arranged a marvelous suite at the Monti Palace Hotel, this time with  _ two _ beds. 

After checking in, Aziraphale and Crowley took the lift and were soon in their room. It was still morning, and they had the whole day ahead of them. Aziraphale had planned to visit the Galleria Borghese first, then to get oysters for lunch before heading to the Rose Garden. When Aziraphale stepped back inside from the balcony, he found Crowley face down on one of the beds. He sighed.

“Crowley, dear, we must be off,” he chided, prodding the demon in the back. Crowley merely groaned in response. 

“ _ Crowley, _ ” Aziraphale repeated, tapping his foot impatiently. Crowley sighed and slid down off the foot of the bed, landing in a heap on the floor before straightening out and standing up. 

Aziraphale just shook his head and herded the demon out the door. 

“Where to first, angel?” Crowley asked as they walked down the bustling street. 

“Well, our first stop is the Galleria Borghese and then we’ll have lunch!” Aziraphale replied, practically skipping with excitement. 

After a short walk they had arrived, and Aziraphale was immediately captured by the beauty and extravagance of the place. He rushed up to a statue, and gazed at it starry-eyed.

“Crowley, look at this  _ detail _ !” he exclaimed, circling the art piece in awe. 

Crowley was less transfixed on the art and more transfixed on Aziraphale (though Crowley thought that the angel was a piece of artwork and therefore he was not wasting the money they had paid to enter the gallery). The angel ooh-ed and ahh-ed almost everything in the gallery. His childish delight was heartwarming to watch, and Crowley found himself, not for the first time, being unable to take his eyes off him. 

When they left, Aziraphale realized how hungry he was. He led Crowley to a local restaurant with a specialty for oysters. They managed to find a table on the patio, and as they sat down, Aziraphale chuckled.

“What?” Crowley asked, flipping the menu open.

“Nothing. I’m just glad you’re not an aardvark,” Aziraphale replied, looking up at Crowley and smiling. 

Crowley huffed a laugh and shook his head. “I still can’t believe you asked me if I was ‘still a demon?’ Like what does that even  _ mean _ ?” 

“I had not seen you in almost ten years, and I  _ certainly  _ wasn’t prepared to see you then,” Aziraphale replied, indignant. “You’re the one that chose to use an aardvark as an example, anyway,” he added as he decided on oysters and a bottle of red wine. 

As Aziraphale ordered for them in broken Italian, Crowley thought back to that day in Rome in 41 AD. He did some mental math, and then… 

“Eight,” Crowley corrected after the waiter had left.

“What?” Aziraphale asked, pouring each of them a glass of wine. 

“Eight years. The crucifixion was the last time we had seen each other before Rome.” Crowley stared into the deep red liquid before him, watching as his reflection wavered in the glass. 

Aziraphale’s hand stopped short of where he was going to pick up his own glass. “How… how do you remember that?” he asked. Aziraphale didn’t even know that and he had managed to remember the exact date they had shared crepes in Paris in 1793. 

Crowley shrugged. “Just do,” he mumbled and took a sip of the wine.

Aziraphale, stunned, was silent until the oysters arrived, and he pushed the plate in between them. Crowley knocked back a whole oyster at once and leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head.

“Where to next, angel?” 

Aziraphale patted his lips with a napkin. “Rose Garden,” he mumbled, mouth still full of oyster. 

“Wossat?” Crowley asked. 

“It’s a  _ rose. Garden. _ ” Aziraphale repeated slowly, unsure of what part of the name wasn’t clear. 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Yes I know  _ that _ ,” he grumbled, sitting forward again. “I meant what’s special about it.” 

“It’s this  _ beautiful _ garden absolutely full of roses!” Aziraphale exclaimed, excitement taking over his voice. “And you can walk through it and everything!” 

Now Crowley was interested. He had been planning on growing some roses at his flat in London, and maybe if he got inspiration from these ones it would help. 

After Aziraphale finished eating, they paid and began the walk to the Rose Garden. Along the way, Aziraphale flitted in and out of shops, marveling at different pastries and clothes. It was only when Crowley grudgingly followed Aziraphale into a tacky tourist shop that the angel actually bought something. 

There was a pile of fake plastic sesterces coins for one Euro each. Crowley frowned at them.

“Is this really what people think these look like?” he muttered incredulously. They looked like stupid cheap children’s toys and did not even have the proper markings. 

Aziraphale, however, was sorting through them idly and did not seem to care how “historically inaccurate” they were. 

Crowley was pissed off. “It’s an insult to history, Aziraphale!” he exclaimed, gesturing wildly with his hands.

Aziraphale shrugged. “I don’t care, I think they’re charming!” He decided, picking one up and making his way over to the cash register. “I’m going to buy one.”

Crowley gaped at the angel. “You’re going to  _ WHAT _ ?!” he cried, rushing after Aziraphale. 

The angel was dutifully ignoring Crowley’s protests and after he had paid for it, they headed back out onto the street, the demon muttering irritably next to him. 

Aziraphale slipped the coin into his pocket and patted Crowley on the arm. 

“Come dear, we’re almost at the garden,” he assured, hoping that would lift the demon’s spirits. He was right. Sort of. 

Crowley’s demeanor changed as soon as they walked through the archway into the garden. He went from being irritated about the sesterces replicas to irritated about the plants. 

While Aziraphale was wandering about, Crowley was angrily muttering (again) about how “spoiled these plants are” and how they have it “so easy” and how if “they had a little discipline they’d grow even better.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Crowley, leave them alone, they’re trying their best.” The angel reached out and gently caressed one rose’s petals. It seemed to grow even more and smell even sweeter under his touch. “See, dear, they just need a little love!” 

Crowley just grumbled and kept walking. His plants would  _ never _ be so spoiled. And if he arrived back in London to see a single spot on any of them… he’d be sure they knew how  _ lucky _ they are to have a strong discipline so they don’t have to end up like these spoiled brats. 

By the time they left the garden it had started to grow dark, and Crowley yawned. 

“ _ Please _ tell me we’re going back to the hotel now,” Crowley moaned, slumping onto Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

To Crowley’s delight, they soon arrived back at their room, where the demon promptly passed out on one of the beds. With a sigh, Aziraphale ordered some cannolis and miracled up some tea. He took the food and a book out onto the balcony. The angel gazed out at the view as the sky grew darker and darker, and the lights of the city came to life. 

It was long after he had finished his tea and snacks that he heard muffled grunts and the rustling of sheets inside. Aziraphale, concerned, set down the now empty plate and mug, marked his place in his book, and went inside. 

His eyes caught on Crowley tossing and turning in bed and mumbling something inaudible. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered hesitantly. He hovered by the side of the bed, unsure whether to touch the demon, worried it would make it worse. 

After another moment, Aziraphale couldn’t stand to watch it anymore. He sat down on the bed and wrapped Crowley in his arms. He stroked the demon’s back until he stopped thrashing and woke up. 

Crowley blinked sleepily at the angel. “What… what are you doing?” he asked, not unhappy to find himself wrapped in Aziraphale’s arms.

“You were having a nightmare, dear,” Aziraphale replied, hoping Crowley could not see how scared Aziraphale was.

Crowley blinked again. “Oh.” His gaze flicked down to where the angel’s arms were wrapped around his waist. “Thanks, angel.”

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale replied, not wanting to let the demon go lest the nightmare come back again. 

Crowley did not move, and neither did Aziraphale, so it wasn’t until the angel was sure Crowley was asleep that he reluctantly settled the demon down into bed. He brought his things in from the balcony and sat in the other bed, refilling his tea. As much as Aziraphale tried to focus on the words on the page in front of him, he found his eyes constantly flicking towards the other bed, found himself starting whenever Crowley moved. 

After a while, Aziraphale gave up on reading and stared up at the ceiling, trying uselessly to go to sleep. It was starting to grow brighter outside when he gave up and ordered himself breakfast. He sat on the balcony to watch the sun rise, and felt a pang when he wished Crowley were awake to watch it with him. 


	5. It Rains

The sun was fully out and Aziraphale was fully packed by the time he finally managed to rouse the sleeping Crowley. After a load of grumbling, the demon finally rose, stretched, and assumed his nonchalant “cool guy” attitude, as if he wasn’t just having a nightmare and being comforted by Aziraphale the night before.

Crowley couldn’t remember what the nightmare was about, but he remembered Aziraphale holding him until he fell asleep. Aziraphale seemed to be avoiding the subject, and Crowley certainly did not feel like bringing it up either, so they let it be and acted like it never happened. 

On the way to the airport they stopped at a cafe for breakfast. Aziraphale ordered a lemon custard cornetto and tea and brought up the rest of the day’s plans. They’d fly to Munich and visit the Marienplatz before taking a four-hour train ride to Berlin to visit the remains of the Berlin Wall. 

Crowley just nodded along, grateful they were taking the train instead of flying to Berlin. One flight a day was more than enough for him. Sooner than Crowley liked, they were paying for breakfast and back in a taxi to the airport. 

*********************

This time on the plane, Aziraphale wrapped the scarf he bought in Paris around Crowley’s neck. Crowley, surprised at first, appreciated the warmth it brought. Plus, it smelled like Aziraphale. As they took off, Aziraphale threaded his hand through Crowley’s on the arm rest. 

The flight was smooth and Crowley found himself panicking less than before. Only once, during a small patch of turbulence, did he squeeze Aziraphale’s hand tighter and close his eyes. He even looked out the window, but after he panicked when they went through a cloud, he decided he probably wasn’t ready for that yet. 

After landing in Munich, they dropped their bags off at the Left Luggage at the airport before taking a quick taxi ride to Marienplatz. The city square was full of people, but, _miraculously_ , Aziraphale found himself having no line when he went to buy himself some currywurst. The sausage and chips smelled delightful, and Aziraphale practically skipped away from the vendor afterwards. 

“Wan’ a bite?” he asked Crowley around a mouthful of food. He gestured the carton in the demon’s face. 

Crowley reached over and popped a chip into his mouth as they kept walking. They spent almost an hour walking around the city square, sharing the currywurst between them. When they stopped inside a gift shop, Aziraphale dragged Crowley over to a spinning stand of keychains.

“Oh Crowley, look at this one!” he cried, pointing to a rubber German flag keychain. He slid it off the rack and held it up. “This is so cute!”

“Angel, it’s a rubber keychain,” Crowley said, shaking his head. “You don’t even have _keys_.” 

“Still, I think it’s quite nice,” Aziraphale replied, turning it over in his palm.

Crowley huffed. “You don’t need it, Aziraphale.”

“But, Crowley…” Aziraphale looked up at the demon with gentle eyes that would put Puss In Boots to shame. 

Crowley groaned. “Fine. I’ll get it for you,” he conceded, snatching it from the angel’s palm and taking it over to the cashier. 

Aziraphale clapped. “Oh, thank you, Crowley!” He took the keychain back from the demon as they left the store and promptly placed it in his pocket. 

Crowley just smiled and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets as they waited for a taxi to take them back to the airport to pick up their luggage. In the car, Crowley thought about the last time he was in Germany with Aziraphale. He had saved the angel and the books from that church in 1945. He didn’t know what had compelled him to save the angel that day. Maybe it was the same thing that made him save the angel from the Bastille in Paris. He felt an ache in his chest at the thought. He had tried to sort out his feelings for the angel many times before, all resulting in him taking a five year nap immediately afterwards. He had been more emotional and forthcoming during their trip than he had been in a while, and he felt raw inside. 

Crowley was jolted out of his train of thought when the taxi came to a halt in front of the airport. He sucked down a deep breath before opening the door. Aziraphale started talking about something German and didn’t stop until they got their luggage. Crowley didn’t mind because he didn’t think he’d really be able to speak without crying. Crowley cried more than a demon probably should, but he definitely didn’t need to tell Aziraphale about that. 

They quickly got their luggage and headed to the train station, where they boarded their train to Berlin. Crowley sat next to the window and pulled his feet up onto the seat, curling himself into a ball as the train pulled away from the station. Aziraphale settled into the aisle seat with a book and smiled when he felt the demon’s head slump against his shoulder. 

*****************

The four hour train ride went by quickly, and soon Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves in their hotel room in Berlin, Crowley electing to take yet _another_ nap. Aziraphale shook his head but decided to let the demon nap for a bit before they headed out to visit the remains of the Berlin Wall. While Crowley napped, Aziraphale flipped through some brochures he had picked up at the train station. A section on local restaurants caught his eye, and he soon located a charming little place that was said to have the best kartoffelpuffer (potato pancakes) in the region. Aziraphale added that to their itinerary for the day, right after visiting the Wall. 

Eventually, Aziraphale roused Crowley and dragged him out the door. As they walked through the streets of Berlin on their way to the wall, they reminisced about their time in Germany during the time of the Berlin wall. 

“You know, I was a guardian for some of the secret church meetings in East Germany back then,” Aziraphale noted, hands folded behind his back as they walked. 

“Really?” Crowley asked, not quite surprised that that was something the angel would have been involved in.

“Yes, really,” Aziraphale replied, nodding.

“Wow,” Crowley hummed. “I smuggled letters and packages across the wall,” he admitted, nudging Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Really?! Wow, Crowley, that’s actually kind of you.”

“Well, I only did it because I was seducing them into materialism and capitalism, of course,” Crowley assured, deciding that he definitely was not being a good person.

Aziraphale huffed a laugh and nodded. “Of course, dear,” he conceded, smiling to himself.

“It’s true!” Crowley exclaimed, gesturing wildly with his hands. He started ranting about how he was not a kind person and how he was actually defying the law and being _bad_. Aziraphale just laughed.

Crowley’s passionate one-sided arguing ceased when they reached the remains of the wall. Both of them fell quiet and Aziraphale reached, silent, for Crowley’s hand and squeezed it. The demon squeezed back and they stood together for a moment, minds and hearts full of memories of times and tragedies long past. 

When it started to rain, he felt Crowley flinch next to him. After hesitating for a moment, Aziraphale applied a glamour and fanned out his wings, lifting one over their heads.

Crowley turned to Aziraphale. “Angel?” 

Aziraphale turned his face to the demon. Crowley wasn’t sure if the wetness on the angel’s face was tears or rain, but he simply pulled Aziraphale closer until their shoulders were brushing. Aziraphale leaned his head on Crowley’s shoulder and they stood together, sheltered from the rain, standing before a wall, as they had six thousand years ago. 


	6. Tacky Bathing Suits and Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The finale. See the end of the work for the accompanying art!!!

When Aziraphale and Crowley finally left the Berlin Wall, they went and got dinner at the restaurant Aziraphale had discovered earlier. Aziraphale’s demeanor improved dramatically when the plate of kartoffelpuffer and bratwurst arrived in front of him. He dug in immediately while Crowley took on his second beer. They ended up staying at the restaurant far longer than intended, and they didn’t leave until Aziraphale had polished off at least three plates and Crowley at least double that amount of beer. 

Crowley stumbled out of the restaurant, arm looped around Aziraphale’s neck. 

“Y’know, angel,” Crowley slurred, sunglasses slipping down his nose as his feet dragged along the sidewalk. “This trip has been great, and I just wanted to say…” he mumbled, his head tilting against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “You’re my best friend, did you know that?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Of course, dear,” he replied. As Crowley continued to stumble along, Aziraphale huffed in irritation. He shifted, picked the demon up and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

“Let’s get you home, dear,” Aziraphale said as he heard Crowley let out a weak protest from behind him. 

They soon reached the hotel, and Aziraphale managed to get Crowley out of his shoes and into bed with minimal resistance. After he got the demon settled, Aziraphale changed into his pajamas,hopped into the other bed, and fell asleep almost instantly. A belly full of potato pancakes really does that to you.

***********************

The next morning, neither Crowley or Aziraphale was awake before nine. When the angel did rise, he ordered breakfast from the room service and took it out to the balcony to read. At about half past nine, he heard Crowley moving around inside. Gathering up his things, Aziraphale went back in and was greeted by Crowley standing bleary-eyed in the middle of the room, his wavy hair dishevelled. 

“Good morning, Crowley!” Aziraphale greeted cheerily as he set his empty dishes on the table. 

“Is it?” Crowley grumbled in response, rubbing his eyes.

“Come, dear, get ready, we have to leave for the airport at half past ten,” Aziraphale urged before taking his book back out to the balcony to read while Crowley got ready. 

A few minutes later the sliding door opened and Crowley stepped out onto the balcony, squinting in the bright sunlight. 

“Ah, Crowley, you’re dressed!” Aziraphale noted, shifting over on the wicker couch so the demon could sit.

Crowley slumped down onto the couch and groaned. His head was still pounding from last night. 

“How are you feeling, dear?” Aziraphale asked, setting his book down.

Crowley couldn’t remember anything after his first two beers. “Horrendous,” he admitted, massaging his temples. “My head is absolutely pounding.” 

“Aw, come here, dear,” Aziraphale replied, patting his lap. 

Crowley hesitated, then pulled his feet up so he was laying on the couch, his head resting in the angel’s lap. Aziraphale ran his hands through the demon’s hair and worked a miracle to ease Crowley’s headache. As the angel’s fingers danced across Crowley’s scalp, the angelic warmth sent tingles down the demon’s back. As his headache loosened its grip on him, Crowley felt himself relaxing into Aziraphale’s touch. The heat of the sun combined with the warmth of the angel’s fingers caused Crowley’s eyes to droop, and he soon nodded off. 

Aziraphale smiled and continued to play with Crowley’s auburn hair. He found himself braiding a crown around the demon’s temple and miracled a hair elastic to secure it. Aziraphale checked his watch and noted the time. Slowly, he stroked Crowley’s arm to wake him. As the demon came to consciousness, Aziraphale smiled down at him. 

“We’ve got to go now, dear,” Aziraphale said, shifting the demon into a sitting position. 

Crowley groaned (he does a lot of groaning, apparently). He followed Aziraphale inside and soon found himself nodding off in the taxi ride to the airport. They had a long day of travel ahead of them, which was why Aziraphale had booked their flight for noon. First, they had a four hour flight to Exeter before another four hour train ride to Dorset.

Aziraphale had booked them a room at a charming seaside inn in Dorset, United Kingdom. Since Wessex and the rule of King Arthur was long gone, it was the closest match Aziraphale could find. 

The flight was rather uneventful. Crowley was still tired enough that even he managed to sleep the whole time, though one hand was still clutched tightly in one of Aziraphale’s. They made their train just in time and soon arrived in Dorset. They took a short taxi ride out to the Isle of Portland, where they checked into their hotel, the Portland Pebble. 

It was already evening, so they decided to just head out for dinner and then visit the beach tomorrow. When they checked in at the inn, one of the receptionists recommended a fish and chip restaurant a mere five minute walk away. 

Aziraphale indulged in a glass of Sauvignon Blanc with his dinner, Crowley simply picking at the angel’s chips. 

Aziraphale patted his lips with a napkin. “So, Crowley, going to spread any _foment_ while we’re here?” he asked, a mischievous look on his face (some might say angels can’t be mischievous, but with Aziraphale that fact comes under quite a bit of scrutiny). 

Crowley choked on a sip of wine he had stolen from Aziraphale’s glass. “What?”

Aziraphale frowned. “Remember…” he prompted, trying to jog the demon’s memory. “Back in, oh what was it, 537 AD?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Ohh.” Crowley shook his head, a slight smile playing on his lips. “You know, if you’d just agreed to the Arrangement back then, we could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble.” 

Aziraphale huffed, gesturing at Crowley with his almost-empty wine glass. “And if you hadn’t been masquerading around as the Black Knight and ‘spreading foment,” Aziraphale threw up vague air-quotes with one hand, “I would not have even had to _be_ in Wessex in the first place, thus saving me that load of trouble!”

“Please, we hadn’t seen each other for hundreds of years, you were _glad_ to see me!” Crowley rebutted, snatching another chip off Aziraphale’s plate.

Aziraphale swatted at the demon’s hand but ignored his comment, instead turning his eyes to his lap and hoping that Crowley wouldn’t notice the flush creeping its way up his neck.

Crowley, _very much_ noticing the redness beginning to colour the angel’s cheeks, cleared his throat and flagged down the waiter to ask for the bill. 

After they paid, they went back to the hotel where Aziraphale, stomach full of fish and chips and wine, fell asleep as soon as he was under the covers. Surprisingly, it was Crowley that was up all night, trying to sort through the day’s events. Napping with Aziraphale on the balcony in Germany. Holding hands with Aziraphale during the flight to Exeter. Aziraphale’s blush at dinner. _Aziraphale_. Everything revolved around the angel. Crowley didn’t think that was a bad thing though. It wasn’t until light was starting to creep through the curtains that the demon eventually dozed off, buried completely under the sheets of the other bed. 

**************************

The next morning, Aziraphale and Crowley had a quick breakfast at the hotel before they decided to head down to the beach. When Aziraphale emerged from the bathroom after changing into his bathing suit, Crowley gaped.

“Staring is rude, Crowley,” Aziraphale admonished, throwing a book into a tote bag. 

“Aziraphale, what the Heavens are you wearing?!” Crowley exclaimed, incredulous.

What the angel was wearing was a ridiculous Edwardian bathing costume. It was pale blue, with a thick cream-coloured stripe around the middle. 

“It’s my bathing suit!” Aziraphale cried defensively.

“What is this, 1910?” Crowley replied gesturing at the ancient bathing suit. 

“What are you wearing, Mr. I-know-all-the-trends?” Aziraphale mocked, crossing his arms.

“Fine!” Crowley threw back, storming off to change. When he emerged, Aziraphale choked on a laugh and did his best to ignore the fact that the demon was shirtless.

“What in God’s name is _THAT_?” Aziraphale asked, shaking his head at Crowley’s swim trunks.

The demon was sporting the classic black swim trunks with flames coming up from the legs. 

“They’re better than what you’ve got on!” Crowley replied, snatching a towel from the rack. 

After a bit more bickering about who’s swimming costume was the best, they finally departed for the beach. Crowley refused to go in the water past his waist and literally hissed when a cold wave came up and splashed him. Aziraphale, however, was gleefully swimming and splashing around, much to the embarrassment of a certain demon. 

They spent most of the day in the sand, Aziraphale reading in the shade of a beach umbrella and Crowley basking in the sun, not even bothering to lay on a towel. He sighed contentedly as the heat seeped into his skin. 

Aziraphale went and procured lunch, and they continued lounging, Crowley rotating from his back to his front every so often. Aziraphale powered through two novels until the sun started to set. 

“What do you say we go for a walk, dear?” Aziraphale suggested, prodding the demon with his foot.

They quickly went and got changed, and on their way to the boardwalk, stopped by an ice cream vendor. Aziraphale bought a strawberry ice lolly and Crowley decided on a 99 Flake. They headed in the direction of the pier and walked almost shoulder to shoulder. 

Aziraphale’s hand brushed against Crowley’s again and again, and the demon relished every touch. The angel had held his hand on the plane, of course, but that was different. Aziraphale was just being kind. This would be different. Unbeknownst to Crowley, Aziraphale was fighting with himself over whether he should just grab the demon’s hand or not. 

They soon reached the pier and, ice cream’s long finished, stood near the railing at the edge. Before them lay a vast expanse of sea, turquoise waves rolling and crashing. The sun was fully past the horizon now, and stars began to twinkle in the sky. 

“Look at this view, Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed, eyes flicking from the sky to the water and back again. 

But Crowley wasn’t looking at the view. He wasn’t looking at the ocean or the beach or even the sky. He was looking at Aziraphale. Because that was the only view he needed for the rest of his (immortal) life. Aziraphale turned and felt his heart jump in his chest when he saw Crowley staring at him. 

“Crowley?” he asked tentatively.

“Angel...” the demon replied, trying to calm the raging storm within his chest. He lifted a hand towards the angel but hesitated mid-air. 

Aziraphale looked down at the demon’s hand stretched between them, then back up into Crowley’s eyes. Gathering up his courage, he threaded his fingers through the demons and clasped their hands together. Crowley’s gaze flicked to their joined hands then back up. 

“I want to fly with you,” Crowley blurted, barely aware that the words were leaving his mouth.

Aziraphale blinked. “What?” But-” he began, eyes scanning the demon’s face frantically. 

“Take me flying, Aziraphale,” Crowley repeated, chest heaving. What was he doing? 

Aziraphale opened his mouth but it was another moment before he spoke. “Are… are you sure?”

Crowley nodded. “I want to fly with you,” he repeated, applying a glamour before opening his wings. It had been a while since he’d done that. He’d opened them to groom them, of course, but they hadn’t been used for flight since the Bastille. He gave them a flap and sighed, relishing the feeling.

Aziraphale swallowed, but nodded. Hand in hand, Aziraphale led them to the very edge of the pier, unfurling his own wings as they went. 

“Ready?” he asked, searching for confirmation.

Crowley nodded. “Ready.”

Aziraphale ensured he had a tight grip on the demon and launched them into the air, the wind rushing past them as they soared higher and higher, until the beach was just a bunch of lights below them. Crowley had shut his eyes and Aziraphale could feel him shaking.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, watching as the demon feebly flapped his wings. “Crowley are you alright?”

Crowley nodded, but did not open his eyes.

“Crowley, I want you to look at me,” Aziraphale urged, squeezing the demon’s hands in his. 

Crowley took a shaky breath and nodded. Slowly, he opened his eyes and raised them to meet Aziraphale’s. When blue eyes locked on golden ones, the world became just them. The roaring of the wind died out, the waves seemingly went silent below them. Crowley just stared. The angel was so beautiful. The moonlight glinted off his blonde hair and with his bright white wings behind him, he almost seemed to glow. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, brow furrowing.

Crowley surprised himself (and Aziraphale) when he barked out a laugh. 

“Sorry, angel, you’re just, fuck, you’re just so…” he searched for the right word. ‘Pretty’ wasn’t enough, ‘beautiful’ didn’t cut it. “Ethereal. You’re ethereal.”

Aziraphale thought his heart might burst. “W-what?” he stuttered, unable to believe what he was hearing. 

“You’re so fucking pretty, I love you,” Crowley froze when he realized what he had said. 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. 

“Angel, I’m sorry, I-” Crowley began but was caught off when Aziraphale surged forward and pressed his lips to Crowley’s. The demon froze, unable to process what was happening. Aziraphale pulled back.

“I love you too, Crowley.” he replied, the biggest of grins on his face.

Crowley was sure he was hallucinating. “You… what?”

“I love you too. And I’m sorry it took me so long to say it and-” 

This time it was Crowley that interrupted. The demon dropped Aziraphale’s hands and brought them up to the side of the angel’s face as he pulled him in for a second kiss. Aziraphale kissed back, hard, and unlike the first, this kiss was full of burning passion and six thousand years worth of longing. Aziraphale reached up and placed his hands atop Crowley’s and flapped his wings, surging them higher. 

When they finally separated, lips swollen and out of breath, Aziraphale grinned.

“That was…” Crowley began, breathless. 

“Splendid,” Aziraphale finished, grinning even wider.

“And to think, we could have been doing that for years if you had just _said something_ ,” Crowley remarked, shaking his head even though the biggest smile danced on his face.

“Oh do shut up, dear,” Aziraphale said, before pulling the demon in again.

And Crowley did shut up. He shut up for quite a while, actually. Both of them did. Besides, there would be time for talking later. Now, right now, the only thing that mattered was starting to make up for six thousand years of wasted time. And they still had another six thousand ahead of them, so why rush it? 

* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it! the finale! thank you so so so much to everyone who helped me throughout this process especially my beta because i really procrastinated writing this!!!


End file.
